


One Night

by FluffyGoddess



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGoddess/pseuds/FluffyGoddess
Summary: Married smut.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr as The Chair and its untitled sequel; I smooshed it into one chapter for AO3 because it feels more natural to me that way.

                It amazed him, even now.  How his wife could blush and twist away at the slight pressure of his hand, could wet her lips and reprove him with a glare.  Three years married now, and one of them at Tarth, with the first of their children on the way.  Yet still, daylight made her stiff and shy.

                "Jaime," she hissed, and he smirked.

                "Brienne?"

                "We are… There are people.  Watching."

                "No, there aren't," he contradicted, but took back his hand.

 

 

                He flustered her again that evening, with naught but the pressure of his knee against hers.  The table was narrow enough it could have been an accident, and they ate across from each other most nights anyway.  But she knew, and refused to meet his eyes, looking instead to the page.

                "Shall we go to bed early tonight, my Lady?" he asked, all innocence.

                "I'm not tired."

                "No?"

                "I'm not," she denied, and stood too abruptly, nearly spilling the wine across his sleeve.

 

 

                She crept up behind him, when the last of the day's light had faded, where he was lounging before the fire.

                "You're exasperating," she grumbled.  He grinned, rolling his head back to catch her staring down at him.  "What has gotten into you, today?"

                _I want to show the world how much I want you, my love,_ he didn't say.

                "Spring spirits, wench," he replied instead.  "Come and kiss me."

                She sighed, and flushed, but bent to his lips obediently.  He'd learned not to laugh at such moments, though she made him feel like too young a boy not to, with his hair tickling her chest.

 

 

                Her lips had turned softer away from the cold of the north, if still much-bitten.  He laved them gently with his tongue, and sucked, and before long she melted for him, and came round to perch awkwardly across his lap.  He jostled her thighs apart until he felt her slide to her place, the hot centre of her still hidden by too much linen but no doubt already wet for his cock.

                "You love my teasing, admit it," he growled.  She bit his neck, but didn't deny it, and her fingers were quick to strip him bare enough for this.

                "Anyone could have seen," she murmured.

                "Seen what – my hand on your shoulder?"  He reached up to demonstrate.  His fingers spread from the curve of her shoulder nearly to her throat, but he couldn't make them stay there.  The too-tempting line of her collarbone was nothing he wanted to resist.  Then she shuddered, and her shirt slipped.  "I wasn't doing _this._ "

                She gasped.  He pinched her nipple, the sweet little peak already pointed, and its mate sticking out at his face.  He kissed it, tasting linen and sweat and _her_ , and her hands set suddenly to work between them.

                "Easy, wench," he reproved, and brought his own hand down to help her.  Her cunt was hot and wet when he reached it, her folds already swollen for him.  He loved the way she whimpered, her glorious eyes closing at his first touch.  "My wench.  My Brienne."

                She rocked, and he was helpless.  She was so shy, so hesitant to be touched, or caressed, shunning affection when others _could_ see, whether they were watched or not.  But at night, alone – she gave herself away then, wanting him too much to dissemble.  He rewarded her with quick, knowing strokes, his thumb where it did the most good and his fingers plying their favourite trade.

                "Jaime, I – I…"

                "Yes, Lady Brienne?"

                She groaned, and knocked his hand away.  He arced up to make this simpler for her.  Her hands guided him into her, her greedy channel swallowing his cock and her legs tensing around his.

                "Easy," he repeated, and slowed her, bringing her down for a kiss.

                "All _day,_ " she muttered, and bit his lip.  He grinned.

                "Am I exasperating, my wife?"

                "Yes.  And you never shut up," she snapped.  There was fondness in her eyes, though, and her spine flexed as she drove herself down on him.

                He kissed her again, and kept kissing her, his right arm holding her as close as he could get her.  She'd learned a slow pace – it tortured him, but brought her to pleasure near as quick as his mouth, and he couldn't bear to rush her.  Her arms came up as she gripped the back of his chair, her small breasts pressing against him.

                "Open your eyes," he whispered, when he thought she was close.  She did, and he marvelled that blue which tinted cold and haughty in sunlight turned pleading in the dark.  He squirmed his hand between them and swept up the slickness there, using it to smooth his touch.  "I love you."

                She shuddered, but she held his gaze and let him see while she fell apart, and it meant the same as his words did.

 

 

 

                She flexed her hands on the chair back, dropping her head to his neck.  His fingertips still circled, keeping her attention, but his hips were still.  She knew that was for her, and she loved him all the more fiercely for it.  For giving and giving and never taking his own pleasure until he'd strained himself for hers.  He watched her, and she tore her eyes away, needing to bury her face where he couldn't see it.  His pulse beat fast against her cheek.  She wanted to lick it.

                "Brienne," he pleaded, when her breath had steadied and his was growing strained.

                "Jaime," she answered, and kissed his mouth.

                He opened for her, his tongue seeking hers proprietarily.  This was an easy battle to yield to him, and both savoured it.  He bit off a curse when she lifted herself free of him.  She licked his nose by accident.  It made her blush, even as he tried to follow her up.

                "You wanted to go to bed early," she explained, and his smile turned wide and lazy.

                "So I did, my wench," he agreed.  He stood carefully, and let her help him strip down to naked skin.  She watched him saunter towards the bed, the muscles of his legs flexing far more than she thought they needed to to get him there.  "Coming?"

                "Yes."

                He smiled over his shoulder at her, and she made short work of her own clothes.  The floor was cold beneath her feet as she crossed it.  It didn't chill her blood, nor could have tempered his.  He welcomed her with both arms about her shoulders, the press of his mouth on hers making her dizzy as nothing else did.

                "Down, wife," he growled, and she sank into the mattress for him.

                He pressed into her as soon as she parted her legs, restraint forgotten.  She moaned, and his hips snapped, and she moaned again, the stretch of him inside her all the better for having been there already this night.

                "Yes – please –"

                He thrust again.  She welcomed him, greedy for him and past caring that he knew it.  She felt herself the most _his_ when he was like this, and she gloried in it.  A pleasure unlike any other, but rooted in her flesh; she tilted her hips so he would press against her nub on every stroke.

                He sought her mouth, and she gave him that, too.  She knew her eyes were wide and watchful – he'd told her they always were, when he fucked her, and she'd blushed until she thought her face would bruise – but his eyes were slits, nothing but a glimmer of shadow between his lashes.

                He tasted of her.  He'd sucked his fingers dry before climbing into the bed, and he'd done that so often that she knew he did it to please himself.

                She'd grown to like the taste, too.

                He came in her with a roar, and she held him through it.  He jerked in her arms, rubbing against her as if his cock could get deeper inside than it already was.  She tilted her head back, echoing his peak.  Whimpered, when he mouthed her throat.

                "Mine," he said, or something like it.  She couldn't properly make out the sound, but she heard his meaning, and the skin on the sides of her breasts tingled with it.

                He crashed down beside her.  She waited for him to finish panting, until he reached round her and dragged her back to him, then she kissed her smile onto his lips.


End file.
